Stained Glass
by Queen of Stuff
Summary: M&MWP. Overly poetic ramblings detailing the affairs of Kingsley Shacklebolt and Bellatrix Lestrange.
1. Chapter 1

Kingsley wanted to scream.

_Idiot_, he thought to himself. _She isn't even _here_ yet, fool, and you're hyperventilating._

But the church—_why_ the church, he'd never know—was slightly short of terrifying, even for _him_. An Auror. A godly, strong, morally stable Auror. Well, the last was a lie, seeing that he was here at all, but still, his judgment previous to this was always sound. Trustworthy.

_Typical_.

There was a loud bang, and he swiveled around. It was _her_.

"'Lo, Shacklebolt," she said, making herself comfortable on a pew. "What's with the scar? Greyback, right?"

"In fact, it was," he said, wanting to scratch out her eyes. He hated how she acted so _casual_, like this was a _normal_ affair, not some demented spin off of a Shakespearean play. "You really ought to sort him out somehow. Maybe a Memory charm or something."

"Whatever, Shacklebolt," she said in a sing-song voice, examining her nails. "Do you like this?"

"What?"

She made a face at him and gestured at the whole of the church. "My palace. Isn't it, for lack of better words, _fantastic_?"

"It's a fantastic mess," said Kingsley, wishing it would infuriate her, make her kill him. But instead, her expression took an odd turn, pulling her lips downwards, heavy eyelids violet in the dim light.

"Oh," she murmured, looking to her left. "Okay."

They were silent, and she played with her hair, ever the immature.

"Lestrange—"

"Please don't call me that."

_Please_?

"_Bella_, than," he said, studying her. "You're acting odd. What's—"

"It's Roddy," she muttered. "He—_suspects_."

Kingsley resisted the urge to laugh. "Why does it matter? You don't love him, anyway."

"It's more than that," Bellatrix said, her eyes darting towards his. "There's everything. I mean, Cissy. And the Dark Lord. And politics and society and—"

"Bella, you're mad," he said quietly, still in his original place standing with perfect posture. "You don't need to worry about any of those things, honestly, _you've_ told _me_ not to worry, and now—"

"I didn't get to the worst part," she said, looking through the stained glass. "I think I'm pregnant."

Kingsley stared at her. "You've got to be joking."

"I'm not."

Another pause. More discomfort.

"I think I should go now," said Bellatrix, staring at the floor. "For dignity reasons."

"Yeah," said Kingsley. "You—you do that."

He closed his eyes and leaned against the cold stone walls. Felt his cloak against the tiny hole in his shirt. Sighed deeply, trying to understand anything that had been said in the last seven minutes.

Before she Apparated, he swore he saw tears in her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

"Are you worried?"

He turned to face her and shivered. "No," said Kingsley. "Why would I be?"

"Because," said Molly indignantly, "you've been acting utterly bizarre for the past week-and-a-half, and if you're going to stay here, I will not allow inexplicable worrying."

"Stop badgering him, Mollywobbles," called Arthur from the head of the kitchen table. "He's a genius; leave him to his work."

"Meh," muttered Molly, walking towards the oven. "A good excuse…"

Kingsley forced a smile. "Really, Molly," he said. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you."

Her words, said in a broken pitch, still ran through his head. _I think I'm_—

"Kingsley?" asked Arthur. They were alone now; Molly had left to go bother Ron. "I know I defended you, but _really_. What's wrong?"

"I'm having an affair," said Kingsley quietly. "Which, as you know, won't go well due to the strain of these bloody politics."

"Ah," said Arthur, sipping his tea. "Affairs. Nice. Not really the sort of thing I'd expect from _you_, but all the same. Who is it?"

"I'd rather not disclose that fact, Arthur," said Kingsley, _her_ face flashing briefly through his mind. "However, I would like some tea. Do you have raspberry?"

.:.

He saw her again on Sunday. The holy day, observed by his Muggle-born father. This time, however, they didn't go to church. Instead, they met in the field on the far side of the abandoned Black Estate, surrounded by weeds.

"How are you?" she asked curtly, her politeness annoying him as it always did. "Nice week? Killed any Snatchers?"

"Three, sadly," said Kingsley. "One looked to be about twelve, if not for the beard. And you? Lots of Muggles, I suppose?"

"Actually," said Bellatrix, expressionless, "no."

"_No_? You can't mean you went a week without murder?"

She visibly flinched at the word, and yet again, his confusion grew, his understanding shriveling into dust. "I told you," she said, "_no_. Is that problematic? Do you find supporting the bloodshed in this family a daunting, if not impossible task?"

He cocked his head. _Family_. It didn't really apply to them, if not at all. He hoped.

"No," he finally answered. "But does _it_ to _you_?"

Now she seemed to be put-down. "Definitely _not_," she replied. "You're forgetting that my favorite color is red."

"And your point is? You could just as easily be a rose-obsessed gardener instead of a psychopath."

"I'm _not_ a psychopath," she said, and he saw that she actually seemed to be genuinely hurt. "Just because you're fighting for a _good_ cause and save peoples _lives_ doesn't mean you're any better than me."

Kingsley grins. She's hurt, and to make matters better, by _him_.

"How did you manage to survive here?" he asked. "On this estate."

"I ignored everything," she said quietly. "It's a bit necessary to go inside your own head to survive, darling, and trust me, the tactics help when you're in Azkaban."

"I see," he said. "But what was it like, living in a bloody _manor_? Lots of toys and things?"

"Quite the opposite, really. More like, oh, I don't know, stealing Daddy's sword and slaying a house elf. At five, mind you. And deciding to be a boy, so magicking up a penis."

"You _what_?"

"It didn't actually attach properly," said Bellatrix quickly, "and my mother was _horrified_. Everyone at Mungo's was laughing, though."

Kingsley chuckled. "Splendid. When I was five, my parents declared their everlasting hate for each other, and lived with Mummy in a flat in London."

"_Ooh_, a _flat_! What was _that_ like?"

"Uncomfortable and crowded. We had a cat named Henry. I always gave him my sausage."

"That's romantic."

"How, exactly?"

"You gave a male cat sausage."

It took him a moment, and then he glared at her in mock anger. "Pervert."

"Whatever you say."

They stare, and it's another of those awkwardly uncomfortable moments.

"How the—er—"

"I took a test," she said. "It was positive."

"Ah. Um," he said, losing his composure for a moment. "What shall we do, then?"

"I—I could get an abortion," she said, but her voice gestured towards something else.

"I suppose," he said, not really sure what to say. "I mean, it _is_ yours. Ours. Your body—er—pro-choice—"

She stifled a laugh. "I suppose you're too confused to actually have a proper input, am I correct?"

"Fully," he said. "But really. It's your decision."

She stared at the heather beside him, then sighed. "You can go now."

He did.


	3. Chapter 3

Narcissa was silent. Aloof. Bellatrix knew her too well—the moment when her period was a few days late, her breath caught in suspense and stress, and then the release of blood down her inner thighs, only bringing on another onslaught of emotions.

"You've done something, haven't you."

It wasn't said as a question, because Narcissa knew her sister _just_ as well, if not a little better.

"Come _on_, Bella. Answer."

Exhaustion. Utter exhaustion.

"No," said Bellatrix, staring at her. "Not exactly."

Narcissa sighed and collapsed onto the couch. "Who'd you fuck, Bella? I know you did _someone_—what, was it a girl?"

"_No_," said Bellatrix harshly. "I mean, not _recently_. It's a man this time."

"Ah," said Narcissa, sitting up a bit straighter. "Dawlish? Or Rabastan?"

"Rab—_are you bloody mad_? No, it's neither," she said. "He's…_Ministry_ based."

"Mhm. And I suppose he's also under the Imperius curse?"

"Shut up," muttered Bellatrix, throwing a pillow at her chest. "And _no_, he wasn't. Isn't. It's ongoing."

"The last ongoing affair you had resulted in marriage, darling," said Narcissa, popping a chocolate-coated cherry into her mouth. "Surely you don't want to be caught in such a mess again?"

Bellatrix growled and rolled to her side. "Shut up, Cissy."

.:.

Her eyes flew open, and half asleep, she stumbled down the hall, a hand over her mouth.

"_Oh my God_," she whispered before emptying the last contents of her stomach into the loo. "_Oh. My. God_."

She flushed, nearly fell backwards, steadied herself on the counter, and spat into the sink.

"Eeuw."

"Bellatrix?"

She swiveled around. Lucius was standing in the doorway, a smug expression twisting his features.

"You're knocked up."

She looked out of the window. "I _hate_ it when you say that."

"How many times have I said that?" he asked, still watching, not leaving. "Because frankly, _Bella_, I don't—"

"Tell anyone and I'll—I'll rat about the fling with _Lavender_," she stammered, her eyes, gray without blue, boring into his. "I'll tell, and—well, Draco can meet—"

"You're _so_ childish, Bellatrix," said Lucius, but she saw the fear and took her chance.

"You're _blonde_ and you like _boys_ more than you like _girls_," she said, sneering. Bisexuality always one of his _weaker_ points.

"You _dare_—"

"Then don't tell anyone."

He glared at her and nodded.

.:.

Kingsley breathed. Checked his watch. Felt a quick, barely-noticeable-but-still-there wave of anxiety.

There was a _pop_, and Bellatrix stood in front of him, her dark hair a mess.

"Hey," she said quietly. "Lucius knows."

"Oh, shit," he said in one of the rare moments where he [_damn_] lost composure. "Are you sure? Or—"

"Damn it, King, I'm sure," she said, and he saw sweat on her brow, as if she was losing her _own_ composure. "He walked in on me vomiting, and—"

She burst into tears, and Kingsley just _stood_ there, not entirely sure of what to do.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, wiping her eyes; Kingsley saw _Bella_ then, the softer, more _comfortable_ version of Bellatrix. "It's just—these _stupid_ hormones—damn it, I think—"

He quickly wrapped his arms around her, jamming her face into his chest. She's so shocked by the random act of—_non-sadist-based_ affection that she shuts up, breathes, and releases a little bit in his arms.

"I'm really sorry I got you into this mess," he said quietly, staring at her hair. Contrary to his previous beliefs, it was not entirely black but rather mixed shades of some variety of brunette, the dark, almost auburn-ish brown that trickled down in small waves to the center of her back; resting, quiet before the tide.

"It's okay. I don't mind it much. Not really," she said, muffled. He smelled vaguely like raspberries.

"Honestly, Bellatrix. I am. And we need to do something."

She looked up, and her expression was far to breakable. "What do you mean?"

"Well, what are we going to _do_ about it?" he asked. "I mean, if you want to _have_ it, is it going to stay with me on weekends or something?"

"…weekends?" she asked weakly, looking at him blankly.

"Assuming you'd like to stay with _Roddy_, of course," he said, and it occurred to him that maybe she _didn't_ want to stay with _anyone_.

"Er—alright then," she stammered, and then Kingsley let her go. The separation was too final, and he felt cold without her. "I'll just—think about it."

She shoved the door to the side, and it was only after she was gone that Kingsley realized that she could've Apparated.


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm starting to think that you're too dramatic for me."

She looked up at him and frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly what I said," he said in between bites of his sandwich. "We can only meet in secret, and you nearly _always_ leave in tears. I'm afraid that isn't good for either one of us, or—"

"But this is a _nice_ cornfield. No solicitors. No dragons. Just us."

"_Exactly_ my point. Is it really necessary, in the twentieth century, to conduct an affair completely in secret?"

"Yes," said Bellatrix as she stretched out on the dirt. "If we didn't, it wouldn't be an affair."

"So you're afraid of commitment?"

The wind blew through the corn, and Kingsley studied her. With her pallor, she looked incredibly wrong laying there, the dark green stalks contrasting with her skin.

"Yes," she finally said as she stared at the sky. "Yes, I think I am."

.:.

Kingsley sighed and stared at the classifieds section of the _Daily Prophet_.

There wasn't a single apartment, flat, or attic available for rent in Diagon Alley. In fact, there really wasn't a single place to live that wasn't completely wrecked. He wanted to growl in frustration. To claw at his thin mattress. But most importantly, Kingsley Shacklebolt wanted to move out of the Weasley's linen closet.

There was a knock at the door, and he sighed. "Come in."

The door creaked open, and Ginny peaked in, holding a tray. "'Lo. Mum sent up some tea. Raspberry. And toast."

"Thank you," he said as he took the tray. She stood in the doorway, not making any attempt to leave.

"Kingsley," she said slowly, as if she was speaking from memory. "Could I—could I confide in you?"

"About what?" he asked, swallowing some tea.

"Love in general," she said.

"…alright."

She smiled nervously and sat down in the doorframe, her red hair falling across her shoulders. "I'm in love."

"With Potter?" asked Kingsley. "We've all known—"

"No, not him," she said.

"Then _who_?" asked Kingsley, truly curious. "Dean? Seamus?"

"Demelza," said Ginny, nervousness taking over completely. "Please don't tell—we've been seeing each other for _months_ now—"

"Ginny, why'd you even _want_ to tell me?" he asked wearily.

She stared at him, biting her lip. "I—I thought you'd understand."

"You think I'm—"

"No! I mean, I thought you know what it's like, not being able to be…_open_ about stuff."

He looked at her. "What made you think that?"

"Well, you're so _quiet_ about yourself, whilst a person like _Mum_ is constantly blabbering about her son's achievements and…stuff. If that makes any sense at all."

By then she was blushing furiously, and Kingsley sighed. "Ginny, do us a favor and leave."

"You won't—?"

"I won't tell."

She sighed in relief. "Thank you, Kingsley."

"Your welcome, Ginerva."


	5. Chapter 5

"I think we need to have a reality check," said Kingsley, and she stopped looking at her sandwich and looked at him for the first time in their affair that was to be considered 'sincerely distracted'.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," he said, not taking his eyes off of her, "that we should both fully accept the fact that you're going to have a baby, and something needs to be done about it."

"I'm still not sure that I understand," she said through a bit of provolone-romaine-tomato. "I _have_ accepted it. I just don't like talking about it."

"Or acknowledging it."

"I swear, King!"

"On what?"

"Um...my cruel, cruel heart."

"You've proven to not be as cruel as I thought," he teased with a smile. "Bellatrix, darling."

"Kingsley, darling."

"Would you like to share an apartment with me?"

"No."

He hadn't expected this. "What do you mean? We're going to be raising a child together, aren't we?"

"No. You will be raising a child. I will be serving the Dark Lord."

She said it flatly, emotionless, her eyes giving her away. He could tell from those eyes that she desperately did not want to screw this up, that she wanted to be the best mother to a child of Black descent since...well...whenever. But her brain, which controlled everything else, was defiant not to.

"But, Bella, think of socks."

"Socks?" she asked.

"Like, when you take off a baby's sock, and the toes go all-" He spread his fingers on his left hand like haywire. Yes, she knew how that happened. She did it to Andromeda when she was a baby all the time. "Don't you want to experience that first hand?"

"Not particularly," she lied through her teeth. "I want to serve the Dark Lord and revel in his glory. Then, once we've won the war, I'll pluck the child from your dead or imprisoned arms and go off to raise it in peace and Pureblood."

"Or not, seeing as you're carrying a halfblood baby."

She froze. "Oh, shit! I didn't even think of that!"

"Well, too bad," said Kingsley, smiling. "I guess you'll HAVE to live with me now."

"Or you can still take full custody," she said quietly. "Why are we even talking about this now? King. King. King."

"Yes?"

"I...I have a proposition."

"Mmm?"

"Let's keep this under the wraps."

"Bella, you can't go much longer..."

"Yes, I can, fool. But let's go into hiding or something. We could go to Wales."

"I don't like Wales."

"I love Wales."

"It's an odd name."

"Exactly."

"I can't stand it."

"I can."

"You're a halfblood. You don't know anything."

"You're a Pureblood. You've slept in the same dorm in Hogwarts as your ancestors did, and you're a product of inbreeding soup."

"Um...I'm not going to bother to correct you on that one, but really, King, let's just finish the sandwiches, okay?"

He sighed and agreed with a bite.


	6. Chapter 6

In the beginning of their relationship, Kingsley Shacklebolt was sure that there wouldn't actually be a relationship. This had come to be proven false due to circumstance, and now, he and Bellatrix were meeting at high end Muggle Italian restaurant.

It was totally unbelievable.

"Are you Italian at all?" she asked, flipping through the menu. "Just wondering."

"No," he answered. "My parents' parents were immigrants from South Africa and Ghana."

"Well, I am," she said, sipping her water. "Italian, I mean. Mummy was that and French. Dad was…well…Black."

"You say that as if it's a thing to be proud of."

"It _is_," she insisted as the waiter came to them. "Really, King—oh?"

"May I take you order?" asked the boy. He was skinny, pimply, and redheaded.

"Um, the mushroom tortellini soup please, extra mozzarella," said Kingsley quickly. "And Bella…um…"

She glanced up. "Oh? Err, I'll take…the…the…red onion pizza, with pineapple, mushrooms, green pepper, banana pepper, barbecued chicken, olives, and sun-dried tomatoes."

She smiled sweetly and fluttered her eyelashes. "Also, I'd like a glass of your finest red wine."

As the waiter left, Kingsley hissed, "For the love of God, Bellatrix, you can't have wine."

"Why not? I'm a wino."

"Because you're pregnant, genius."

Bellatrix sighed and slumped in her chair. "Then you drink it."

"I don't drink," said Kingsley.

"You don't?"

"Really, I don't."

"'Why not?"

Kingsley groaned internally. Not this, not now, not with _her._ "My father was an alcoholic."

"Oh."

There was a stiff silence in between them, and it lasted until a waitress gave them their drinks.

"Married?" she asked playfully, setting each glass in front of the respective owner.

"Err…"

"Doesn't matter, anyway, with today's society, does it? You two just enjoy yourselves. I'll be at table five if you need me."

She pranced off, and Kingsley wondered what it would be like to have Bellatrix when he was younger, not with aching joints, when he was still in Hogwarts.

"Which house were you in?" she asked as if she read his mind.

"Ravenclaw," he said simply. "I looked better in blue, I guess."

She laughed a bit too loudly and nearly spilled her untouched wine. "Oh, sorry. King? Um. I was thinking…"

"Yes?" he asked.

"Should I kill Roddy?"

Roddy. She still liked him. "Not before you tell me how you met."

She sighed. "I was a fifth year."

"Yes?"

"He was seventh, of course."

"And?"

"I got pregnant."

He felt his throat close up. "And…?"

"I got an abortion," she said, looking away. "I know, not really appropriate for casual conversation, but whatever. It happened. So what, right?"

"Does anyone else know?"

"No."

"Bella…"

"Look, I told you too much. I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I mean, there's really no point in forgiving a flawed person, but I don't care. Pretend I'm good for a moment, a trophy wife of the Order. Okay. Ready? I'm Bella, not Bella_trix_, and, um, I wear sweaters and have two kids already and they both look you, a girl and a boy, and they have cute names, and I'm not dirty or insane or have ever been to Azkaban and maybe I'm even a good cook. We struggle slightly financially, but other than that, we live by the Weasleys and I'm best friends with Molly. Okay?"

Kingsley sighed. "Imagine I'm a Death Eater. We slept together during charms class in Hogwarts, and I drink and beat you up. You were pregnant once already, but you miscarried in a motorcycle accident. Your hair is gray and you do hard drugs and fantasize about the Dark Lord."

"Good," said Bellatrix, still a little bit teary, "but mine was better."

.

Arthur is drinking coffee when Kingsley gets home. "'Lo, chap," he said, sticking out a hand. "With the girl again?"

"Yes," said Kingsley, setting his stuff down in his closet.

"Is she alright?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I'm never sure with her."

"What's her name?"

Kingsley forces a smile. "Let's just call her Bella."

"Bella? As in beautiful? Is she a Muggle?"

"No, she's fully magical," said Kingsley, thinking of the curse that killed Sirius. "You don't know her. I mean, you know her, but not well enough."

It took Arthur a moment. "You can't mean—?"

"I do."

The men stared at each other. "But…she killed…"

"What's this business about someone being killed?" asked Molly, coming down the stairs. "Was there another attack?"

"No," said Arthur, not taking his eyes off of Kingsley. "I can't believe you."

"I thought you understood."

"What?" pressed Molly, and Kingsley remembered Bellatrix's words. "What is it, for the love of Godric?"

"Kingsley is sleeping with Bellatrix Lestrange," said Arthur, slumping a little. "Wow, King. I just…wow."

"What?" shrieked Molly. "Le_strange_? Lestrange who killed Sirius? Lestrange who tortured the Longbottoms?"

"The very one," said Kingsley. He didn't want to hide anything anymore. "I think that she's changing. It's very subtle, but still."

"People like that don't change," said Arthur, not looking at him. "They just get progressively worse."

"I don't really care," said Kingsley, realizing that he didn't, not really when it came down to it. "I'm inviting her over for dinner next week. She'll be in disguise, so don't worry. The children won't know."

"That's…that's crazy," said Molly, dumbstruck. "King, this is absolutely insane."

"I know," said Kingsley. "I know."


	7. Chapter 7

Bellatrix was not taking a bath.

She didn't liking baths because they remind her of her overly tragic childhood and whatnot. She just wants to scrub away the sin when she engages in full on bubble mode, and she really could indulge in a martini right now.

Narcissa is in the bath as well, staring at her past the bubbles and yawning spectacularly. "Do you ever—"

"Probably not."

"You don't even know what I was going to say," said Narcissa, almost in a whine.

"I don't care," said Bellatrix. She felt sick, a little sore, and worried. Oh, God, the amount of worriment was ridiculous. "I really don't care."

"You're being rather…melancholic," stated her sister.

"You don't say."

"I really don't understand."

"Cissy, just leave me alone."

.:.

Kingsley was sitting on the Weasley's front porch when a sudden loud pop and black blur collapsed onto him.

"What the hell?" he asked, completely startled.

"Hi, King," giggled Bellatrix. She kissed his nose.

"Bellatrix, you can't be here," he whispered. "Arthur and Molly will _annihilate _you."

"I don't care," she said. Her shampoo smelled like strawberries. "I want to show you something."

She stepped into the light and he swallowed. A slight curve was apparent underneath her dress.

"God," he whispered, reaching out. "This puts things in perspective, I guess."

"Yeah," she said, sounding younger than ever.

Suddenly, the front door opened, and Molly Weasley stared at both of them in their pose.

"Kingsley," she said after a good deal of time had passed, "I don't even know."


	8. Chapter 8

The reality of the situation was quite frightening, when Arthur thought of it. A cold-blooded killer was sitting at his dining room table, twirling her hair ever so nervously and drinking tea.

"Thank you, Molly," said Bellatrix Lestrange, looking a little pale in the dim light. "I really appreciate your efforts in not killing me."

"Yes," said Molly stiffly, gripping her wand underneath the table.

Kingsley kept his arm wrapped around Bellatrix's waist, just so. "Thank you, Molly," he echoed, "and you too, Arthur. This is imperative for both of us."

"But why?" asked Arthur. "How can we tell that your…err…_girlfriend_ has changed?"

Bellatrix looked hesitant. "Should we tell them?" she whispered.

The Weasleys stared at them expectantly. Kingsley Shacklebolt cleared his throat and brought Bellatrix a little bit closer. "Err," he said. "She's pregnant."

The silence was deafening.

"Damn it," said Arthur, shaking his head. "Kingsley, I really expected…I don't know…more out of you."

"What do you mean?" asked Kingsley. He felt oddly uncomfortable. "I mean, I can make my own decisions, correct?"

"Yes, but…you're not married, and…" began Molly. Bellatrix stood up very quickly.

"I think I should leave," she said, and her voice was trembling.

"Bella," said Kingsley hurriedly, looking up, but she had already torn out of the door.

Arthur and Molly looked at him, confused. "What…what did we do wrong?" asked Molly.

Kingsley stared at her. "You really don't know?"

He walked through the kitchen and onto the front porch, where Bellatrix was sitting on the steps, shivering, looking small and lonely. She glared up at him. "So? What's new?"

"Bellatrix," he said, sitting next to her, but she shoved him rather forcibly, and he almost fell. "Bellatrix, stop it."

She was crying, now. Short, little sobs escaped from her mouth and she would stop and stare up at the sky and hold onto his hands.

"They kicked me out," she said finally, in his arms, crying uncontrollably by now. "I mouthed off Lucius, so they kicked me out."

"Seriously?" asked Kingsley. She punched him again, and he held her tight. "I'm sorry."

"I don't know what to do, I'm homeless, and, well, yeah, I feel awful in general."

"I guess we have to live together now," he said quietly, and she nodded, nuzzling against him. "The question is, where?"


	9. Chapter 9

The Muggle classifieds did not move, and this perturbed Bellatrix to no end.

"It's just…it doesn't make sense," she said, flipping through the paper, sitting cross-legged on the sleeping bag that was Kingsley's bed. "Are they really that backwards?"

"They're not backwards, Bellatrix, they're just Muggles," said Kingsley, looking through his own newspaper. "And they invented lots of things that are quite marvelous."

"I can not believe you just said that."

"Think about it," said Kingsley, reaching for her hand. "All sorts of devices that can…do stuff."

"Stuff," she said, unconvinced.

"Yes," he said, and the door swung open.

"I brought you some toast," said Molly, looking haughtily at Bellatrix.

"Thank you," they said simultaneously, taking the plates.

They were living in a linen closet.

It was getting pretty bad.

.:.

"We could build a house," said Kingsley.

Bellatrix snorted.

"Really, we could. We're both highly capable."

"I don't really think I could."

"Fine, then."

They walked, in silence, for about a minute.

"How's…"

"Rodolphus is dead," said Bellatrix curtly.

"I'm sorry," said Kingsley.

She nodded.

"How did it happen?"

"Attack."

She wasn't very responsive today.

.:.

"Something's wrong."

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Shut up."

.:.

He woke up and she wasn't next to him.

Molly was in the kitchen, sipping tea. Bellatrix was sitting next to her, staring rather despondently into the distance.

"Um," said Kingsley. "Should I go?"

"No," said Molly. She looked tired.

"I feel awful," whispered Bellatrix, bringing her knees to her chin.

"Bellatrix wants some chocolate," said Molly. "Now."

"Why?" asked Kingsley. He truly did not understand.

"Kingsley, just go get some chocolate."

"I…it's three in the morning."

"Please," whispered Bellatrix, looking up at him.

"Is this code for something? Are you hurt?" he asked.

"Just get me the fucking chocolate," she whispered, and he saw something wild in her eyes.

"Okay."


	10. Chapter 10

It was snowing, and it wasn't going to stop for a while. Kingsley had seen this kind of snow before, and it was always ending in tragedy.

Bellatrix was sitting at the typewriter, frowning, and itching her Dark Mark. They found the typewriter in the attic of the Weasley's house, and with some force Kingsley dragged it down the stairs.

"What are you writing, exactly?" he asked, slightly annoyed by the seldom clicks.

"A book," she answered, still frowning, lips turned downwards. "Do we have any pomegranate?"

"No. What kind of book?"

"Historical memoir."

"That's a thing?"

"Yes."

"Lovely."

She stood up, which made the space in the closet even more constricted. "Let's go to Diagon Alley."

"Is that really the best idea?"

"Why not?"

"Well," he said. "You're a Death Eater. I'm an Auror. The Alley is in ruins."

"Exactly why we should go," she said.

"It might be bad for the—"

She turned around, eyes rolled, arms struck outwards. "King!"

"What?"

"You're doing the thing again!"

"What thing?"

"The worrying thing!"

He growled at her and she giggled like a child and collapsed onto him. They stared up at the towels surrounding them at breathed in the clean scent of fabric softener and cleaning supplies.

"I love you," whispered Bellatrix.

"I love you too," whispered Kingsley.

.:.

Because they were them, they were rather imposing, and together, they were a force to be reckoned with.

Diagon Alley _was _decrepit, barely functional in comparison to what Kingsley remembered a few years before. Bellatrix, however, delighted in the darkness, wearing some dress taken from Molly's funeral clothes, twirling manically and humming to herself.

"Do you think I could get some robes? That would be lovely, right?"

"Bellatrix, I don't have any money."

She grinned and took out a tiny change purse filled with Galleons. "I'm a Black. I was practically _conceived_ in gold."

Kingsley swallowed and followed her into the only open clothing store. They were in there a moment for a moment before he realized that Bellatrix was giving a disdainful look to nearly everything in the store.

"Bellatrix, stop it."

"It's just so…"

"Modern?"

"…yes."

He threw a sweater at her. "Just try it on. We need to appear normal."

She sighed and stared at a pair of jeans. "They're so, I don't know, Muggle."

"Do you want to move out of a linen closet?"

She nodded.

.:.

Twenty minutes later, they left with an array of clothing.

"I will regret this forever," said Bellatrix, wearing a rather conservative looking dress.

Kingsley smiled. "You look nice."

"I look like a mum."

"You are a mum."

"Oh."


End file.
